


Canines

by Glassdyr



Category: Sam & Max
Genre: Drabble, Gen, M/M, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 05:59:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18867163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glassdyr/pseuds/Glassdyr
Summary: Max's smile is his secret weapon.





	Canines

It’s the smile that gets him. Every time.

When Max beamed, enthralled with the soak of adrenaline when the Freelance Police got to do something stupid and beautifully violent, it wrecked Sam. Max's canines were so out of place on his bunny body, but the play of sharpness and softness matched perfectly, like black and white in a greyscale photograph. Sam loved it.

And when Max got to do something really insane? Oh, that smile was beautiful. It made Sam’s heart stutter when it was pointed in his direction. It was a weapon, like any of the machine guns Max adored and provided gratuitous sound effects for.

When Max got to let loose, his eyes shone with a focus he rarely had. In the thrall of pointless violence, he was perfectly alert, not off in daydreams, aware and awake in every sense. Revelling in gun recoil, unblinking; ears perked to the sound of gunfire, unshrinking from ringing eardrums. Smiling as the kickback rattled his teeth – smiling so wide with those beautiful teeth and a pure, childlike happiness. And when he turned to face Sam to toss out some quip, that ear-to-ear smile glittering right in Sam's face, it stopped the detective cold in his tracks like he’d been shot.

 _Gra-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta!_ Max would always yell, mimicking his mac as he blew through the clip, rolling the R like reading off a fine wine menu.

Sam never stared, though. Sam always averted his eyes in the nick of time before Max noticed him staring or, worse, rebooting like an old PC running Windows ’98. He never had much interest in traditional relationships before, so why start now? Why not leave their friendship as perfect as it was? Two adages always came to mind whenever he came close to doing something stupid involving Max: _you can’t teach an old dog new tricks_ and _don’t fix what ain’t broke_. And Max was far, far from broken, and Sam felt like an old, old dog sometimes.

Sometimes, though, he’d slip and fall into dreams of more. When Max would get hurt worse than usual and Sam got pissed and raised Hell in petty vengeance, Max would be there in a flash, pawing at his waist. “Shh! Shh, Sam, it’s okay. I’m _okay,_ ” he’d reassure in a surprisingly soft voice, different from the dulcet tones of his screamy laughter and high-pitched yells. Somehow, he always knew exactly how to ground Sam and cool him off in a heartbeat. It made Sam pull Max close and mumble something involving the phrases “little buddy” and “glad you’re alright”, way more sentimental than their relationship called for.

But it really was okay, like Max would say. Sam would take the little bits he could get – when Max would jump into his arms when he was scared, the fights over who got to turn the car sirens on, the dirty jokes they made to each other with middle-schooler giggles – and he’d be satisfied. By now, Sam was an expert at keeping his pining mostly in check.

But he could never resist a joke about grabbing Max by the ears, especially when Max always played along with a grin that killed.

**Author's Note:**

> "Mac" is slang for a gun where I am, specifically a machine gun.


End file.
